


Cold Comfort

by inkandchocolate



Series: Cold Comfort [1]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-24
Updated: 2010-05-24
Packaged: 2017-10-09 17:01:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandchocolate/pseuds/inkandchocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel comforts Faith, post "Five by Five."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cold Comfort

Like marble warms to the touch, so did Angel's skin to Faith's. She wondered briefly if he would melt when he first slid into her, his ice into her fiery warmth. But she was the one turning to liquid and he was still solid, filling her in every spot she needed to be filled, body and heart.

His hands were gentle as they stroked her face, brushing her mink dark hair away so that he could stare at her. His lips were like velvet, soft and not the least bit cool, and they curved over her own full ones like they were meant to be there. He made them a perfect fit, molded hers to his own with the slightest pressure. She wondered briefly at the odd lack of breath in her mouth when he slid his tongue in to meet hers, but the thought was gone in an instant and she didn't miss it at all. He tasted of something warm and slightly salty, and she didn't care that it was the blood he had taken earlier. She took his tongue in slowly and joined it with her own.

While his tongue was exploring her mouth, his hands caressed her skin elsewhere. Her breasts tingled under the brush of his fingers, making her arch up against them for more. He took advantage and slipped one hand under her raised back, then down lower to press her tighter against him. He was in so deep that the pressure would have hurt if she hadn't been who she was. But Faith could open up wider, take him in deeper, then tighten up again. The groan of pleasure she felt him make against her lips made her smile and pull back. She thrilled to the sight of his perfect face wearing the mask of ecstasy that she was putting there. Something inside her rejoiced, reveling in these moments when she could be herself, could be free. She was being cherished for a short time, and it was so magical that she never wanted it to end.

Faith let her head drop back, baring her throat to Angel. She barely breathed as she felt the pressure of his lips there, then the liquid slide of his tongue. She half expected to feel the sting of fangs, but it didn't come. The rush of rewarded trust was like a hit from some exotic drug. She came closer to her orgasm but made herself hold back. She wanted this feeling to go on all night.

Somewhere inside, she knew it wasn't about love. This was about two tired souls in need of comfort. Something in Faith needed desperately to be touched and held, to be assured that she was a woman worthy of affection and adoration. Angel knew this on a level that other people couldn't understand. His own soul, battered and bruised, destined to be forever alone, could for a time join with Faith's as their bodies came together in the night. No danger here of perfect happiness, no danger of love destroyed. Angel would never again know the absolute peace of being joined to his soul mate. That was as lost to him as the sunlight. He had thought that he would never know physical pleasure either, but this felt right. No need to think about the repercussions, no need to worry about who would be hurt. There was just him, and Faith, and the way she felt wrapped with him right now. The heat of her around his cock, the taste of her on his tongue, the smell of her that he knew would linger on his sheets for far longer than any mortal could detect it - these all were a glimpse of heaven that had long been denied to him.

Faith gave a moan low in her throat and he responded to it instinctively. Raising himself up on his knees, Angel brought her up with him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders, pressing her breasts against the smooth marble of his chest. Her skin was almost as pale as his, and they gleamed together in the scant light from the other room. Faith leaned in to Angel's neck. He closed his eyes in anticipation and then chuckled unexpectedly when he felt her teeth there, nibbling like a puppy. She wound her hands through his hair and pulled his head back, the better to lick and nuzzle him.

Rocking her hips back and forth, slowly rubbing herself against him, she could feel him begin to tense. She wanted him closer, as close as she could get him, so she released her grip on his hair and put her hands instead on each side of his face. Balancing herself in the place where they were joined, she brought his face to hers. She pulled him with sweet gentleness until his forehead met hers, his nose touched hers, their lips brushed in the lightest of kisses. She stared into his eyes as her body rocked on his and she felt his hands tighten on her hips. She could see the affection he had for her reflected in his eyes, and knew it was something he would never speak of. He could feel her melting into him as she got nearer to the edge of the abyss, and she was pulling him with her on the ride. He opened his mouth to speak but she silenced him with a kiss that said it all.

Then they were over the edge, free falling together, bodies joined, eyes open, her breath in his mouth and his hands in her hair. The only sound was the wild pounding of her heart, the moans of his pleasure, her cries of release. When they returned to the world around them, Angel released her with as much gentleness as one would grant a new born child. She laid back, a glow on her skin from what they had shared and her lips swollen from kisses. He started to slide out of her, more reluctantly than he would have admitted, but she stopped him. Without a word she pulled him down to her and they rolled to the side. Clutching him to her with her arm on his shoulder and a leg thrown over his hip, Faith snuggled under Angel's chin and closed her eyes. She knew that this would never happen again, and that was the way it should be. Right now, with Angel beside her, inside her, his lips in her hair and his skin warm from her own, Faith finally felt safe and whole. Her healing had begun.

e n d


	2. Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel admits his need for Faith.

Every time he watched her, it was like having a lexicon of the forbidden unfurled before him. Descriptive words flew through his mind - luscious, ripe, delectable. He wanted to eat her alive, wanted to drink her down forever.

Hence, the problem. The drinking was definitely not on the list of things to do when you're making love to a woman. Particularly this woman. Particularly for this man, this demon in a man's masquerade.

Angel watched Faith dancing around his room. She was wearing headphones and nothing else, holding a Walkman in hands that had caressed him moments earlier. Every part of her was glistening in sweat from their coupling. Her firm body moved in rhythm to the barely heard beat, although Angel could pick it up quite clearly. Her hair lashed out as she swung her head around, grinning at him wickedly.

God, those lips. Full, soft... _juicy_ was the word he couldn't shake from his mind. And talented, very talented. He felt himself twitch, recalling what those lips had done to him, how they had made him moan. And beg. //Let's not forget the begging. Hardly fair to not give her her due//

She'd done a little moaning of her own. And a lot of whimpering under the ministrations of his own mouth and hands, schooled with hundreds of years experience in decadence and indulgence. //Like riding a bike, you never forget no matter how long it's been. And technically, I'm still riding...//

Faith pulled the headphones off abruptly and cocked her head at him. "What put that smile on your face, lover?" She stood in the light of the moon that was pouring in, reflecting it back like some pagan goddess. Her hair, wild and tangled and shining, had amber highlights he'd never noticed before. Her dark eyes were sparkling and her skin was still flushed. He could smell her, a scent that was getting cleaner by the day. Under the bitter fading fear and panic was her own odor of some mythic spice, vaguely citric and reminiscent of an orange grove in Madrid he'd been in once, many lifetimes ago. She could pass for a Spanish maiden, full of curves, and dark beauty, and eyes that promised heaven for the lucky man who could catch her.

"I'm remembering something, that's all," he finally answered her, not losing the faint smile that had caught her attention. "Oranges and bicycles."

He was being Cryptic Guy again, Faith thought with a sense of affection that startled her. She was getting used to the comfort of being near Angel, getting used to the relief of not being on the run all the time. She was happy to be sharing his bed. //Damn happy to be sharing that body, that mouth, that cock of his would make the angels weep// Her own smile twitched a bit at the sudden thought of Angel on a cloud with a bevy of heaven's own paying homage to his ... his, uh, blessings. She chuckled and then gasped when she found herself sprawled against his cool chest. //Fast, so fast, and I never even saw it//

His hands were in her hair, lifting the heavy damp veil from her neck. It felt nice and her eyes closed while she was soaking up his coolness and he absorbed a little of her warmth. Her lips curved into a contented smirk and she sighed. Angel was fast when he grabbed her and pulled her over to him, but now things were calm and languid and sweet. Her thoughts moved into the dark spaces, floated through the trickles of anticipation that led into the depths of real desire. //Fast, he's fast, but God he's slow when it matters//

Angel took in every inch of her that he could see from his vantage point under the sensuous weight of Faith. The porcelain of her skin rivaled his own, but hers was warm, soft even over the powerful muscles beneath. She was pale as the moon, shone like the stars when he had her in his bed and his arms. His own dark eyes sought out hers, night into night, unspoken words transmitted there, things they would never say aloud. Here was comfort, here was peace, here was home and heart and ... love. Here was a kind of love that they could only find with each other. Two dark warriors, two world weary spirits, each calling out the good in the other.

Angel's hands pulled her close and she lost herself in the fire of his kiss. Cool lips moved over hers, velvet soft and honey sweet. A familiar tug lurched into the pit of her stomach when his hands left her hair and slid down to pull her closer to him. She swung her leg over his hips, felt the hardening length of him nestle in the curls between her legs where she was still damp and rapidly getting wetter. His hands cupped the swell of her bottom and lifted her just the tiniest fraction. Now the most tender part of her was rubbing against the head of his shaft and she shuddered at the thought that he knew just where ... exactly where ... to move her, to do that to her. Her own hands got busy; Faith liked to share the fun.

She broke the kiss and leaned back, smiling as her eyes caught his. She loved knowing that she could give him the shivers. Her hands worked across his hips, caught the dip at his navel and brushed the dark hair there briefly, petting him. Her nails dragged ever so lightly up the expanse of his wide chest, no fur here to pet but there were two spots that craved her attention. Her fingers nimbly teased his nipples, and he did shiver then and push his hips up, lifting them both off the bed. His own hands came up to her breasts, returning the favor she'd done him, and she caught her plump lower lip in her teeth. A small sigh escaped her and she wriggled herself quite deliberately against him. His gasp was much louder than her own and she smiled at him. "Gotcha, lover," she whispered above him.

Quick as a cat, he was rolling her, was over her and inside of her with one smooth movement. All the way in, in fact, and this time they both gave voice to something between a shout and a scream. "Who's got who?" he whispered back, tongue slipping into her ear along with his words. Her legs came up around his hips, his newly warm skin seemed to belong to them both now, and she began to writhe beneath, a Faith sandwich between Angel and his mattress, white on white on white. Her tongue caressed his skin everywhere she could reach - chin, neck, chest, cheek, then finally lips and mouth as he brought his face to hers. She kissed him with her eyes wide open and he saw himself in her black pupils, the only reflection he'd seen in years, and the only one he wouldn't shrink from.

"Angel," she breathed against his mouth. He smiled and moved inside of her, slow circles in time to her own motions. There was so much to say to her and he had no idea where to begin. All he could think was how perfectly she fit him, curved to his body, warm in his embrace, tight around him everywhere. Her whole body was wet and sweet as ripe mangoes, tangy as raspberries crushed on his mouth, full of juice, full of life.

And then she was coming and crying his name over and over, an echo of ecstasy that he soon followed. Nothing felt like this did, joined to Faith, luscious joy, richer than blood. Her lips caught his again and she breathed her murmured thoughts into his mouth, and he swallowed her words to keep inside of him. And he answered her question with a kiss on the throat that she offered him in utter trust, complete assurance. //Faith// He gently placed his hand on her cheek and turned her face, and saw himself smile in the mirrored richness of her dark eyes.

end


	3. Fulfillment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faith needs a fulfillment that only Angel can provide.

Hair as lush and dark as mink lay over his arm, a silken fall that just demanded the touch of his fingers. He fought the urge to wake her, satisfied himself instead with the petting of this part of her. For now. She'd wake soon enough. And he could be patient when it suited him.

Every day that passed, he found himself more and more ensnared in the web of her. She had drawn him in with her vulnerability, her completely open admission of who she had been and what she had done, her painfully blunt need to be something new, something different.

Her obvious trust in him to get her to that place.

Hundreds of years passed by him in a blur as he did the photo memory shuffle. Father, mother, sister. Serving wenches, barmaids. Minions and Masters and this Childe and that. None had ever handed themselves to him so freely, so absolutely, and said to him, "Make it right. You can do it. Only you." No one trusted him like she did.

It scared him. Quite a lot. So he tended not to think about it more than, oh, a million times a day. In fact, whenever he wasn't physically touching Faith, Angel was mentally holding her, his thoughts wrapped around her like his body longed to be. His formally deceased libido had gone into overdrive, as if making up for a hundred years of lost time. //Reports of the death of my sex life are seriously exaggerated//

He'd had dedication to his wants before as Angelus - fighting, fucking, hunting. He'd denied them all as Angel, until now. This had a drive beyond even the wildest bloodlust he'd ever felt.

She stirred under his hand and he floundered between praying she'd wake and give him her eyes and that slow bedeviled smile, and hoping she'd sleep just a little more so he could watch her. She settled in again and her face was framed in the light from the window. //Even the moon wants to touch her//

Christ, he was getting poetic in his obsession. //Shades of the demon that bit me// A bitter grin touched his mouth momentarily and was gone in a flash. Best not to rattle that particular cage now; it figured to get rattled soon enough. Considering how his existence usually panned out to the lowest common denominator, any day now Faith would be leaving him for something better, someone real, someone who could give her everything he couldn't. She'd never know how he felt, what he saw in her. She'd never hear him tell her that he felt his best with her because she let him, just let him be what he was.

That was all it took, the thought of how she had accepted him had him burning to be deep inside of her again. He brushed a cool finger across those amazing lips and she opened them just the tiniest bit, the pink of her tongue peeking out to lick where he had touched.

//Jesus// He was hard, completely hard, at just the thought of that mouth. Restraining himself, he said over and over that he would be slow, he would be gentle, he would this time, he really would. And while his mind was busy telling him that, his hands were busy pulling her up to him so he could kiss her fully awake. Languid kisses of her full mouth, trailing briefly up to the thin skin of her eyelids, tender and infinitely lovely with the faint tracery of veins. Back down to the endless fulfillment her mouth could give him, and she was awake now. She was opening those lips, inviting him into her with a tiny little sigh that made him groan.

Her arm came up to cup his face as she rolled to her side and slipped up against him. She pressed her hips tight against him, acknowledging the hard length that seemed to strain towards her as if it was seeking its home. Briefly breaking the kiss, she opened those amazing eyes and stared at him. Licked her lower lip, just because she knew what it did to him, as if she read his mind.

"Missed me, did you?" she whispered to him, and then kissed him quick so he didn't have to try and fumble out an answer and try to explain away his need for her. She didn't want to hear him try to diminish it. That would take away the power of it all, mar the rightness of it. She knew that what was happening to them was something on a higher plane, realized he was having issues with accepting it, figured he would get there soon enough. He was a bright boy. It would come to him by and by. At least he wasn't denying the pull of this need for each other. She would never abide falsehoods again, not in herself and not in another. That was the old way, and it was closed to her for all time now.

To keep him from talking, from thinking, she moved her kisses to his ear. The tip of her tongue dipped into the perfect shell and then her warm breath drifted inside of his head. She was so gentle, so patient in her work here at the altar of his body; she worshipped in devotion. Her tongue swept to the outer rim and then to the tender place behind it and that's all it did, all it took to have him grab her and pull her onto him, wanting to be deep inside of her.

But this time she slipped out of his grasp, seated herself on his chest instead, smiled at him in a way that promised tortures to come. "What's your rush, lover?" she purred at him, hands on his cheeks in a warm caress.

He dropped his arms to the bed in surrender, his eyes darker than usual, too full of desire to hold anything else. He wanted to take her in a rough rush, his body screamed at him to do just that, but he reined it in and lay there. He even managed to rasp out a twisted little sound that might have been assention. She took it as such and leaned over to brush her hair against his smooth pale chest. He shuddered, just once, and touched her face with his fingertips while it was still hidden behind the curtain of chocolate silk. Faith captured one finger in her mouth, bit down gently, then harder, before releasing it.

Slowly sliding down his body, allowing his cock to slip right between her legs and over the wet cleft where she knew he wanted to be buried, Faith's eyes never left Angel's. If he'd had a heartbeat, it would have been doing double time. He watched the head of his shaft come peeking up between her breasts, under her neck and then there it was at her mouth. Waiting. She was waiting, looking for something in his eyes. And just to give him something to think about, she brought her tongue over those lips again with all the deliberate slowness of a trained courtesan.

Granted, not much was functioning in Angel's brain at this point. He was reduced to thinking in single words. //Want. Need. Now...// But he couldn't quite get his mouth to work. Thankfully his vocal cords were functioning on their own; he was groaning and ... yes, Christ, he was whimpering.

She saw him struggling and couldn't let it go on. And hell, let's be honest, she wanted it as much as he did, wanted to taste him again and make him moan. She wanted to see the pleasure take him and know that she was the one who could give this to him.

So she gave him her mouth, took him in slowly, tongue swirling over the head, tasting the bittersweetness of the liquid already there, making him wet enough to slide right into the depths of her throat. Her hands cupped the soft sac below, one finger rubbing in that surprisingly tender spot that brought a string of words from him that made no sense to her now. She only knew it meant she had the right spot. Keeping one hand there, cupping and rubbing, the other came up to wrap around the length of him. She let her hand follow her mouth up and up, until her tongue was tracing that sensitive ridge and he was held everywhere by those hands and those lips. She breathed in the essence of him: essential Angel.

Opening her fingers, she gave him a long lick, base to tip, and stared until he raised his head and looked at her. Only when she was sure he was watching did she continue, hair pushed behind her ears so he had the best view of her swallowing him in and down. Eyes locked, black on brown, he got a jolt that went beyond the incredible things she was doing to him with her mouth, tongue, hands, fingers - Jesus, everything. Watching her watch him made it as if they were joined somewhere else, somewhere beyond mouth and cock, fingers and flesh. He felt ... connected completely on a level that he'd only been guessing about in his darkest thoughts and hopes.

He couldn't have blinked if he wanted to right now, terrified she would stop looking at him, absolutely insane at the notion of her not continuing to lick and suck and rub, yes, right there. He was going to come in a second, and he wanted to wait because this felt too good to have it end right now. He could watch that nude Botticelli vision go down on him for ever and forever, and as if that thought was enough, he lost his grip on it all and he was filling her mouth with himself, his entire being was going into her as she swallowed and licked and swallowed again.

Faith was shuddering herself, her own orgasm sweeping through her as she saw him look into her eyes, saw him get that glazed over expression that told her it was going to happen any second, and then the flash of total insight he got was communicated to her. Angel's revelation twisted her insides into the good tight knot she wanted, and the gush of fluid in her mouth and down her throat took her the rest of the way there.

Her head drooped down and she kissed the part of him that she still held in her hand. Angel's hands reached for her again and she released one piece of flesh for another. His hands were over hers, around her wrists, drawing her up his body. His arms were around her then, holding her to him in a light embrace that made her feel like she was some kind of precious treasure, well guarded and highly prized. He kissed her softly, once, twice, then a gentle invasion of the inside of her mouth where he tasted himself mingled with the flavor of Faith. If he could drink that down, fill himself with it, then he would never need anything again to sustain him. No bloodrush had ever compared to a dose of Faith, the texture of her skin, the taste of her sweat, the sound of her climax, the sweetness of her trust.

He listened to her heartbeat, remembered the words she had fed him over and over again, the oaths he had swallowed down and kept in his soul, treasures he was afraid to even examine for fear that they would tarnish and fade to dust in the light of reason. Like he was afraid he would wither and blow away if she ever found out how he felt and left him, found him lacking.

//Does she know what she says? Does she mean it or is it just words and sounds that slide out of her when she comes for me?// Angel laid his head on Faith's chest and let her hold him. Her arms were around his shoulders, his own circled her hips. Her heart was beating slower and slower now, returning to normal. His thoughts slowed as well and he found himself slipping into sleep. She was sliding down with him, too. Her fingers laced together so she could hold on without much effort, reluctant to release him even for a second.

Right before his eyes closed, Angel heard her say them again, heard her say the words and knew she was braver than he had ever hoped or feared. Braver than he was.

And they slipped into each other's dreams together.

~end


	4. Here There Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faith gets ready to move on. And that's what they both want, isn't it?

The face in the mirror is so fucking cold. The eyes are hard and black like chips of jet, obsidian slivers reflecting nothing from inside. The liner goes on so smooth, like you never stopped using it, like a baby finds its mother's breast the first time, instinct pure and simple. That's how the makeup goes on, black liner and dark shadow and red lips.

//Killer smile// And a flinch like you've been slapped at the thought, like it was out loud. That was new, that sensitive spot. Get rid of it, pack it away like you packed away all the other new things.

Put it in the box with the feelings of safety and security, of belonging, of being cherished and needed and wanted. Of being fine and sweet, of being accepted. Of being just you and still being here. Put that fucking flinch in there with it, wrap it up in the stupid blanket of vulnerability, and seal the box. Make it gone. Fed ex it to Hell or Sunnydale or someplace where someone might actually have some use for those feelings and emotions.

Replace it with the boots, with the liner and the lipstick and the black leather. The hard line of a cynical smirk instead of that weak-ass smile. Nothing soft in that mouth anymore. Try the grin again, get it right this time.

//Killer smile, baby!// Yeah, nailed it. The bitch is back.

Don't turn around when the door opens, when the scent of him drifts in to you, clean skin and baby shampoo, for the love of God. Don't turn around, even though there's no reflection in the damn mirror; you can just picture that look on his too-perfect face, the head down, eyes peering up like some puppy dog who got paddled with the morning paper. Put that back up straight. Too late for him, that stuff is already out the door. It won't work now.

And can you get rid of that fucking knot in your stomach? The one that matches the one in your throat right now, the one that's keeping you from telling him to fuck off, to take a stroll back into the sewers where he belongs, piece of shit that he is. You're the one in charge, he had his fucking shot and he pissed it away. He's even stupider than you are to think that there was going to be some miracle - praise Jesus, I been saved! Not too fucking likely.

Go ahead, look at him, might as well get it over with. Head up, hair tossed with the old spirit. Let him see you in full gear, all turned out in style. Watch his eyes take in the makeup you haven't worn for weeks. Let him gaze on the curves packed hot and tight in leather and denim, spilling out in all the right places. Let him remember that you gave it all to him, all of it, everything he sees and everything he never saw. He held you in his arms, body and soul, and he missed the part of you he couldn't see when you laid it at his feet. No matter how often you said the words, he was deaf to them and to the unspoken pleas.

//Too late, lover// But the words stick in your throat. All that comes out is that weak, sorry whimper that makes you want to smack your own face. He's going to pretend he didn't hear it but you know he did anyway. He hears the heartbeat rushing in your chest, let alone that pathetic noise you just made.

Walk over there, just go over and look him in the eye. Right in his face, that perfect, beautiful face that you had hoped to have near you - over you, under you - forever. The things you asked him to do, the things you granted him, just save them for another time when you aren't here anymore and you can afford the luxury of the tears you want to shed now. Get right up there. See the mouth that kissed you, the lips that have been over every inch of your body more times than you can count. See the eyes that you used to imagine held affection and maybe, just maybe, something else that you won't even let your brain try to form words for anymore. You said those words to that face, looked into those eyes, breathed yourself into that mouth. And it meant nothing at all to anyone but you.

Remember not to break down when you think about the times - all the God damn times - you bared your soul to him. Never to anyone but him, not ever. Trusted him to heal you, believe in you, trusted him to be the hero that he always was for everyone else. Of course he failed you. Everyone fails you. Why should he be any different?

Why? Because you never could say those things before, never could feel those things, never had those thoughts. Until that face was over you. Until those hands caressed you. Until every touch you received was one made in tenderness and acceptance and there was nothing there that was dirty or ugly. Because every time he was near you, you breathed in his goodness and let the darkness slip away. Because you actually believed the things your heart told you. Because you believed the dreams. Because you opened the gates, let him in the citadel of your soul.

Go ahead, watch him try to say something deep and meaningful on the outside, words all shiny and sparkling like something from the Penny Pincher - cheap and easy. Might as well let him press that knife in all the way home. And let's not forget how that knife he is pressing goes in even deeper than the last knife that cut you. That last knife put you away for how long? Take that number and multiply it by all the hopes you foolishly had that you'd finally come through the shit and washed yourself clean. Can you count that high? How many angels dance on the head of a pin? How many devils are dancing in your nightmares?

Just because he's crying now, not a single word spoken, doesn't mean you get to lose the only part of you that you have left. Just because every tear makes you want to reach out and kiss them away, it doesn't mean anything. It might mean that you're not the bitch you thought you were, but you can't let him see it. Did he think you'd be his toy forever? Did he believe you could stay and pour out your every dream and thought and emotion, like some eternal fountain just there to refresh him at his leisure? Did he think he could take and take and take, forever and eternally draining you of all you had to give without giving back the one thing you needed? Just one word, that's all you needed. And you told him over and over and a million times more.

No more chances now. That old girl is gone. Mailed off in the box, sealed up forever. His tears don't matter. The hands reaching out to you don't matter. What's here for you now? His lips on your hair? His arms pulling you in? His tears, cold as ice chips, sliding off his porcelain skin and dropping onto your forehead? The way they feel when you lick them up, salty as the ocean, shouldn't be making you raise your head up. You shouldn't be reaching out to lick them from his skin now. You shouldn't be.

You shouldn't be pulling that face down, nose to your nose, hands in his hair that's like silk on your fingertips. You shouldn't be kissing that mouth, your lips shouldn't be warming his.

Here's what you're left with now: arms around you, holding you tighter than you've ever been held. You've got his scent in your skin again. You've got the sound of his sadness in your ears, the oddest sound you've ever heard, something like the death of an exotic animal, a phoenix or a gryffin in its final moments. You never made those sounds yourself. But you know what they mean.

Here's that trap again, knowing it all but hearing none of it. And remember that you've got the kisses and the caresses right now, know that you can feel what he needs to say, you can practically read it printed on his skin, it's in his eyes, in the curve of his mouth when he opens it to kiss you again. But you're not hearing it. He won't say it, won't give you that. And that was where we started this whole thing, right? Goodbye to the girl who believed in what she felt. Goodbye to her, hello to the bitch. Hello to the one who can take care of herself and doesn't need anyone else.

So where is she now? Why is it that you're crying yourself and letting him kiss _your_ tears off _your_ face? Why are you washing away the makeup that you wore like a mask? He's kissing away your safety, your protection. He's taking the strength from you with his fingers when they wipe away the liner, when his mouth kisses off your lipstick, devouring your colors and leaving you bare again.

So why aren't you striking out? Why does the hand that should be raised in a fist only curve around his neck? Why does the mouth that should be telling him goodbye only open again and again for his lips and his tongue; why does the taste of him make it seem like everything else was wrong? Why are you clinging to him, asking without words for him to pick you up and hold you, when your boots should be carrying you out the door and into the sunlight for the first time in weeks?

And why - oh God, why - are you saying it again? Telling him those words, letting him have free access to your soul again, one more chance for him to trample on it in ignorance and refuse you the one thing that would bind you to him forever? Why do you need that verbal chain to tie you down? You know, you just know, that you're going to die waiting for that from him.

So, here you have it. You've got him wrapped around you again. You've got those arms holding you to the body that makes you weak to be near it. You've got the kisses on your lips and your cheeks and, Jesus, your hair and your eyelids. You've got tears mixed with your own. You've got his screaming silent plea for you to stay. You've got everything you ever wanted in this man, this place, this sanctuary.

And in one moment which you will have frozen in your mind forever, even if you live to be a hundred and twelve, you have his voice in your ear. And you have the words. You finally have the words.

~ e n d ~


End file.
